“You ready, son?” whispered the Martian, sharp teeth drooling in anticipation.
A poppy dipped in response.
“Stay bent over; wait for her to rise up. I’ll eat the left one, you take the right.”
The poppy dipped again...

“You boys in place?” whispered the old man into his walkie-talkie.
Two microphone double-clicks replied they were.
“They’ll wait for Becky to lift her ass. His testicles will be visible. They will rush in fast. For God’s sake, don’t miss!”
Becky lifted her ass.
Two poppies raced in to feed.
Two lasers fired.

Two Martians in poppy camo lay dead. Teeth up.